


Skin Deep

by Raufnir



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bullying, Comfort, Cor is a badass teacher, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gladnis, Insecurities, Lessons, M/M, Martial Arts, No Beta, Pre-Relationship, Tenderness, Touch Aversion, Young Ignis, learning, self discovery, young gladio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raufnir/pseuds/Raufnir
Summary: Saw a tumblr post today about how perfect Ignis is with his little overbite and his acne scars, and I wrote a oneshot about teenage Gladio taking care of Ignis after he gets in a spot of trouble. Gladio can't stand people taking advantage of others, especially the quiet and reserved boy being trained as advisor for the future king, and after the incident, Ignis realises he needs to learn some self defence. And that means close quarters, and being touched. Which he loathes.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Ignis had no time to deal with their bullshit. He was fourteen, already doing his second degree level course with his private tutor, and he was about to be late for a meeting with Regis.

“Hey, what’s the rush, nerd,” one of the trainee Glaives sneered, sticking out his hand and blocking Ignis’ path. Two years older and with the patience of an angry bull, the Glaive was not in the mood to let him go.

“Yeah, come on, specs,” the second said, shoving him from behind and sending him stumbling over the outstretched leg of the first. Ignis had his arms full of papers and books, and he fell hard from the force of the push, landing face down with a grunt.

The books and reports went everywhere, and he slammed his fist down hard into the marble of the corridor. Breathing deeply, he tried to pick himself up, but the first Glaive knelt and turned him over, holding him by the shirt collar. “What makes you so special, huh?” he snarled. “You’re nothing but a spotty nerd, look at you! What’s so fucking special about you?”

Ignis was terrified, his skin crawling at the touch of another, but he tried to bite it all back. Words weren’t coming. His legs thrashed suddenly as panic surged, and he fought to break free of the grip, but he didn’t know how. “Get off me,” he finally squawked, his young voice cracking.

They laughed and one of them ripped his glasses off his nose and put them around one of the rolled up reports as if it had eyes. “Look,” he snorted. “What do specs here and this report have in common?” he laughed, looking up at the other Glaive.

“Dunno?” he snickered. “Both full of words but no emotion?”

Ignis ground his teeth together. “Get off!” he growled, trying to kick out, anything to get them to stop touching him, to get them out of his face.

“Oi!” a deeper voice boomed down the corridor. Heavy footsteps charged towards him, and suddenly the Glaive who had him by the collar was actually _lifted_ bodily off him and rammed backwards into the wall. “Get off him,” the older boy growled as he let go and turned to the other boy with a fierce glare, who scrambled to help his friend, and the two of them scurried off down the corridor.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis croaked, now concentrating on gathering up the papers frantically and without turning around to face him. “You have my thanks.”

“You ok?” he asked. He knelt down beside him. “Hey,” he added gently, reaching for his arm to get his attention.

Ignis jerked backwards out of his grip like a frightened animal, recoiling, fighting to regain composure.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Gladio mumbled, holding out the report that the bespectacled boy had missed. He smiled softly as his amber eyes roamed over the high cheekbones of the younger boy but his gaze snagged on those eyes. Slightly unfocused behind the glasses, they regarded him with a mixture of confusion and reverence. Gladio suddenly remembered something, and breathed, “I’m sorry I touched you. I forgot you don’t like it. You missed this one.”

“You know?” Ignis had frozen as he looked at him.

“Know what?”

“That I don’t like to be touched. How?”

Gladio’s face split into a wide grin. “We’ve known each other all our lives,” he said.

“Yes, but…”

“Relax, Ignis,” he smiled.

Ignis took a very deep breath, held it, and then released it as he stood up, papers and books miraculously back in a stack in his arms. “Thank you for your assistance, Gladiolus.”

“Anytime, Iggy,” he said, also rising, and taking half a step backwards, though he didn’t turn to leave. He just reversed to give him a little more space.

The nickname seemed to stall Ignis’ brain for a moment, and he stared up at the other boy. Gladio was only a year older than him, but he was a full head taller, and about twice as wide. As his eyes caught a vein pulsing in Gladio’s neck, Ignis said, “That incident highlights an area of weakness in my schooling thus far. I shall speak to the king first, but perhaps it would be advisable for me to begin some lessons in self-defence.”

Gladio’s face lit up and he beamed a smile which Ignis couldn’t quite understand the true meaning of. He clenched his fist as though he was trying to stop himself from slapping Ignis on the shoulder in glee, and he grinned, “That’s great. Let me know if you need a sparring partner, or someone to train with. I’d love that. Seriously.”

“I match you in neither height nor build. I cannot see that I would be a good partner for you.”

“You kidding? We’d be perfect together,” he smiled, a huge white smile that made Ignis’ insides do strange and unfamiliar things. “Catch ya later,” he said, with a skip in his stride as he bounded away down the corridor like an enormous bear.

Ignis watched him go, and then turned. As he did, he caught his face in the dark pane of a door to his left. With his cheeks ravaged with acne which no medicine seemed to be able to keep under control effectively, his ash brown hair already streaked with grey, and his stupid glasses to correct a goofy eye, he had never felt more physically unattractive. He had also just experienced his first wave of physical attraction towards another.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the fluttering in his ribcage as he sat through the meeting, taking notes for Noctis, but when he was finally alone at the end of the day, waiting for his uncle to return to their apartment, he cast his mind back to that morning. He had jerked away from Gladio’s hand, but… but his touch hadn’t been the same as the others. It hadn’t set his whole body crawling like there were a thousand ants beneath his skin. And his eyes. His eyes had looked at him like he didn’t see the acne or the glasses, the fear or the disquiet deep inside. He’d just seen…

Astrals only knew what he’d seen, but when he turned up at the training centre the next morning, praying he wouldn’t meet those two Glaives again, he kept thinking of that golden stare, and found it gave him courage, something warm and pure to draw on.

The doors to the training hall opened, and Gladio pushed his way out, sweat pooling in a sharp ‘V’ on his navy Crownsguard vest. When he saw Ignis standing there, looking and feeling like a lost puppy, he grinned that wonderful grin, that one which seemed to say he was so excited and pleased to see him.

Ignis tried to return it.

“They let you come train then?” Gladio laughed. “Yes! Come on.”

“I thought you were just finishing…” Ignis admitted, eyeing the sweat patches on his shirt.

He laughed and scraped his hand through his spiky hair. “I was. Come on!” and he backed up into the training room, holding the door open and twitching his head back over his shoulder.

Ignis had no idea what he was so excited about, but it suddenly made him nervous.

Sensing rather than seeing the change in him, Gladio faltered. “Unless you’d rather just train with Cor. I don’t wanna intrude or whatever… I… I’m sorry… I just…”

Ignis was finding it difficult to follow Gladio’s emotions as each one evolved and morphed into the next. “You’re welcome to observe, of course,” he said. “I just can’t imagine that it would be particularly engaging for you to watch a beginner who has never done anything like this before.”

Gladio sighed. “I just thought you’d like a friendly face with you, that’s all. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

He sighed and made to walk past Ignis, heading for the locker room.

Impulsively, which was something Ignis never did, he shot his hand out in a flash and closed his fingers around the forearm of the bigger boy. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’m not the easiest person to get to know.” He swallowed. “I can sense that you’re trying, and I am being unhelpful.”

Gladio’s face softened. “I already kinda know you, Iggy,” he smiled. “And I should know you well enough by now that I shouldn’t be trying to impose myself on you.”

His eyes fell down to where Ignis had a hold of him.

“First lesson?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Ignis narrowed his eyes, but nodded.

Gladio lowered the arm which Ignis was still holding and brought his hand up in an arc over the top of Ignis’. Without touching him with his other hand, he pushed Ignis’ hand way, using the leverage of the movement to dislodge him. Ignis watched intently, eyes widening when his grip slid easily off the boy’s arm.

“You wanna try?” Gladio asked in a soft voice.

He nodded once.

“Ok to touch you?”

He nodded again.

“Ready?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis begins his self-defence training with Cor, while Gladio watches and is asked to step in and be a demo dummy. More self-discovery from Ignis, and more friendly support from Gladio on the sidelines. And yeah, more fluff. Because I can't help myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hadn't planned to write more, but Okanehime and Ama asked if there was more, so I kinda sat down and wrote more... Thanks guys, I loved writing this one, and getting inside young Iggy's head a bit more.

Cor was standing in the centre of the training room when Ignis entered. He was wearing a black training _gi_ instead of the scruffy Crownsguard sweats that Gladio favoured. Ignis swallowed, stepped fully into the room, and bowed low from the waist. He had read the books. He knew the etiquette.

“Come in, Ignis,” Cor said, his voice gruff and low, but not unfriendly. In fact there was hardly any inflection in it at all.

Ignis also knew about Cor. He’d joined the Crownsguard at the stunningly young age of thirteen, and had become King Mors’ bodyguard at just fifteen. He soaked up martial arts the way Ignis soaked up and processed information. Now, in his early thirties, he still had all the fitness and strength of a younger soldier, but there was stoic wisdom in his blue gaze that made Ignis’ insides crawl. It felt like he was being weighed and measured, judged and tested all at once as he stepped onto the firm matting of the training room floor and approached the man they all knew as The Immortal.

“Marshal,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice from cracking. He was at that age now where it had a propensity for being unpredictable, and squeaking in front of Cor The Immortal would not be seemly, regardless if he was a good friend of his uncle or not.

“I’m glad you’ve got yourself a _gi_ already,” he said. Shooting a dark look at the doorway behind him, he added, “It makes it much easier if you can train in the _correct_ gear.” Ignis turned to see Gladio lounging against the doorframe, grinning. He lost the grin under the force of Cor’s glare, but he didn’t budge.

“You mind me watching, Marshal?” he asked. His tone was casual, but there was a polite reverence lurking under it that said ‘ _if you say you do, I’ll go. Immediately.’_

Cor surprised Ignis by turning to the small boy and asking. “Do you mind if he stays?”

Ignis looked from Cor’s eyes to Gladio’s, from blue ice to burning flames, and shook his head. “I’m hear to learn, Marshal. I cannot see that Gladiolus’ presence would hinder that.”

Cor’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. Just enough that he might just have been thinking about blinking, or sensing a shift in the air in the room, but Ignis saw it all the same. The marshal cleared his throat and then beckoned him to stand in front of him. “You can leave your glasses on for today,” he said, “But I don’t approve of training with them as we advance your techniques. Same goes for any jewellery if you’ve got any on.”

Ignis shook his head. “I don’t, sir,” he said. “And I shall leave my glasses in the locker room next time. Apologies, marshal.”

Cor took in the earnest figure in front of him, bowing again in apology, and said in a tone that was marginally less gruff than before, “Hey, you gotta be able to see, Ignis. I’m glad you’ve got them on for your first session.”

Ignis bobbed his head but said nothing.

“Actually,” Cor amended, casting his eyes back to Gladio. “Amicitia, come here. I could use a demo dummy.”

“Gee, thanks,” Gladio snorted as he entered the room properly, but Ignis noted that for all his informality and light-heartedness, he still bowed from the waist at the edge of the mats, facing Cor, as he was the teacher, with due deference.

“Alright, smartass,” Cor said, cracking a rare but dangerous smile. “Hit me.”

Ignis, more used to the hushed decorum of libraries than the brash barking of soldiers’ barracks, was astonished. He took half a step backwards and opened his mouth. But Gladio was unfazed, and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and snorted, “Like I’ll ever land a hit on you, sir.”

Cor rolled his eyes, not bothering even to adopt a sparring stance.

Gladio drew his hands up to his ears, his shoulders hunched protectively yet still somehow loose and fluid. Ignis drank in the sight, trying to imprint the way the older boy was standing on his memory so that he could imitate it when it came to his turn. In a flash like a released spring, Gladio launched a single right-handed jab at Cor.

The marshal batted it away with a block. The movement was almost absurdly economical: he stepped his right foot forward to meet Gladio’s incoming blow, and intercepted the punch with his left arm, fist balled as it flew in an arc from somewhere near his right hip, across his body. His fist rotated from the wrist as he raised his arm up, so that the bony outside length of his forearm caught the soft inside of Gladio’s extended arm, batting the blow away like it was no more than a summer fly.

Without looking at Gladio, who had not thrown another punch, Cor turned to Ignis. “Did you see what I did?”

Ignis nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Cor nodded. “Hit me.”

“Sir?”

“Throw me a punch, Scientia.”

Ignis swallowed and balled his fist. At least the new tension in his fingers hid the shaking.

“Stop,” Cor barked. “Show me.”

“Show you?”

He reached for Ignis’ hand and the boy tensed right up, but refused to flinch at the approaching touch. Cor, however, did not touch him. He pointed at Ignis’ closed fingers and said, “Thumb on the outside, or you’ll break it when the blow connects.”

“Of course,” Ignis blushed. He should have remembered that.

“Ok, go for it. Bring your hands up to your cheeks like this,” he said, and Ignis mirrored his movement. “Now extend the arm outwards, without swinging outwards – it’s not a haymaker – and keep your fist at the same height. Make it like a piston.”

Ignis did as the marshal instructed, and to his surprise, received a hum of praise.

“Good,” he murmured. “Alright, time for me to block your punch, and then you can block mine, or Gladio’s, whichever you’d prefer.”

Ignis’ green eyes flashed to Gladio, who stood passively in a polite, even sombre, ‘ready’ stance behind Cor, silently waiting for the next time he’d be needed for a demonstration. He twitched a quick smile at Ignis though before Ignis looked away again.

Cor read Ignis like one of the fourteen year old’s textbooks. He seemed to know he hated being touched, but rapidly cottoned on to the fact that he was more comfortable with Gladio. Any time they tried a new lock and release, Gladio was the one to do the grabbing, and Ignis was eternally grateful that he never latched on too tightly, nor did he linger more than was necessary for him to learn the technique. By the end of the class they had covered the basics of one-step sparring. “You were right, Gladio,” Cor said, still looking rather grim, but there was the smallest of smiles in the corner of his eye.

“I was?” Gladio said at the same time as Ignis asked, “He was?”

The two boys exchanged looks, Gladio’s an open, laughing, humorous stare, and Ignis’ an abashed blush.

Cor actually chuckled and ruffled Gladio’s spiky hair. “You were. Ignis is an exceptionally quick learner.” He turned his gaze back on the small, spotty boy, and surveyed him. “And with a bit of fitness training and a few more sessions like this, I think you’ll make quite the fighter.”

“Forgive me,” Ignis began awkwardly, “But I didn’t request these sessions to become a soldier. I just feel I should know how to defend myself better.”

Cor and Gladio exchanged a look this time, and Ignis gulped, unable to read it. Cor nodded at Ignis, though it seemed more like a respectful bow, and he said, “And that is why you’ll make a good fighter. You’re not here like some people to learn how to beat the living crap out of someone. You’re not here to learn to pound someone to a bloody pulp. You’re efficient, and you’re compassionate. You’ll do what’s necessary, but no more.” He paused and glanced at Gladio. “I wish I’d been more like that when I was your age.” He sighed. “That’s enough for today. Make sure you stretch, and I’d recommend a cool down jog first.”

Ignis bowed formally, still reeling from The Immortal’s words, and thanked him for teaching him. When he straightened, Cor nodded his own curt respects at the two boys, and left the room. Ignis blew out a short sigh, but didn’t relax his stance. _Compassionate._ No one had ever used that word about him before. Of course, he liked to think he was, but he had such trouble reading people sometimes that he got lost, and was then mistaken for being cold when he was just confused.

Gladio turned to him and said, “Hey, praise indeed coming from The Immortal! You did great, Iggy.” His voice was gruff and deeper than Ignis’, having already broken, and there were just the beginnings of fluff starting to appear on his jaw, and as Ignis stood in front of him, he suddenly felt extremely awkward again. His hand moved to his cheek where he knew there would probably be some new, monstrous, acne waiting for him in the changing room mirror, and he took half a step backwards, lowering his head in shame. “Thank you,” he murmured. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.”

“What about that jog?” Gladio asked, sounding genuinely put out. “And stretching?”

“I will have to forgo them unfortunately,” he babbled, nodding once and fleeing the room as quickly as he could without sacrificing too much dignity. He came to a halt in the doorway however, and turned on the spot, surprised to see that Gladio was still standing in the middle of the room. “Thank you for your assistance today,” he added in a rapid-fire burst of nerves. “I appreciate it.”

The older boy could only manage a nod, his golden eyes still burning with emotions he couldn’t recognise, and Ignis bolted to the relative safety of the locker room. To his dismay, he saw that his skin was red and inflamed from the physical exertion, but at least there was nothing too disgusting to behold other than the angry lumps on his lower cheeks and chin. Closing his eyes in a gesture of deep disgust, he turned away from the mirror and slid out of his _gi_. The material was new and crisp as cardboard, and it had rubbed his armpits and between his thighs to a raw pink, but he paid it no mind. Grabbing a towel, he strode to the showers and closed the door behind him.

His mind buzzed and his skin itched all over. He hated getting sweaty. He hated being dirty and greasy after physical exertion, and he loathed the feeling of having other people’s sweat and dirt and grease on his skin even more. He looked at his wrists, almost expecting to see inky stains where fingers had been wrapped around his slender arms. He shuddered, but as he stood under the searing heat of the water, he realised that Cor hadn’t even made to touch him at all. He had got Gladio to do all the work with Ignis. Did he know about his aversion? Had Gladio told him?

Mortified at the thought of Cor The Immortal thinking he was some kind of prissy princess who didn’t like to be touched, he felt his stomach drop even further. It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t being picky. And it wasn’t the people. It wasn’t even the grease. It was the _sensation_. It was the way being touched felt like being rubbed with sandpaper, or sprayed with acid. He didn’t like even Noctis’ touch, and the young prince was nothing but soft shadows and dark feathers to touch. Ignis should know. He’d been taking care of him, waking him, dressing him, for years, even when he’d been injured. Especially when he’d been injured. But Gladio? What was his touch like?

He tried to define it, to give the sensations a concrete shape in his mind like all the others had, but he couldn’t. His uncle’s touch was like forged iron; not cruel, but cold and firm, unyielding, though still elegant. The hands of those Glaives were like poisonous frog-skin, but Gladio? Yes, he’d been sweaty, and objectively that should have been repugnant, but it wasn’t. Ignis was so disturbed by this new fact that he didn’t hear the door open, and he didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone until he heard the shower at the end of the row turn on.

He shrieked. He actually shrieked in surprise as he turned his back away, breathing heavily.

“Woah, sorry,” the newcomer chuckled. “I thought you’d heard me.” It was Gladio.

“No,” he gasped, reeling in his rampaging emotions once more. Gods, the thought of Gladio seeing his pale, imperfect, scrawny, scholar’s body made his insides shrivel and his brain crawl around his skull like a malboro sprout.

Another throaty chuckle sounded and Ignis thought Gladio’s voice had changed as he said, “It’s ok. I’m not looking.”

Cautiously, suspiciously, Ignis peered over his shoulder. The room was a blur, especially the distant corners, but he saw Gladio’s bare back, all unblemished tanned skin and tight, developing muscles, clearly enough. His hair was shaved tight to his skull on the sides, but the top and back were growing shaggier by the day. Ignis suddenly realised he was staring. Well, _peering_ rather than staring, as it was none too sharp, but still. He coughed, and fumbled to turn the shower off, grabbing his towel and wrapping it hastily around his middle.

He tried to hurry from the shower area, but in his borderline-manic haste, he lost his footing on the slick tiles, and went down with a crash onto his hip. He cried out, as much in shock as surprise and pain, colour rising up his cheeks in utter mortification as he heard Gladio turn with a gasp. “You ok?”

“Fine,” he blurted, rising and leaving with as much grace as his bruised dignity could afford. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”

Ignis wanted to die of shame. He was a Scientia. That meant impeccable manners, unwavering formality, and absolute decorum in all things. He thought of his uncle, back ramrod straight, hair immaculately coiffed, perfection in all things, and tried hard not to cry with shame as he stuffed his arms angrily into the crisp white shirt, the fabric sticking to his still-damp skin as he bundled himself into it in hot-faced haste.

“Hey, Iggy,” he heard Gladio murmur quietly from behind him a while later as he was adjusting the cuffs of the shirt after tucking it into his dark, pressed trousers.

“What?” he snipped. When Gladio didn’t respond immediately, Ignis allowed his green eyes to flick up to the face of the shield-in-training.

He could tell that Gladio was going to be one of _those_ guys when he was older. Heck, he was already getting half of the daughters of the staff twittering. Anyone who met him fell in love with him and his easy, carefree attitude. At fifteen, he looked closer to seventeen, with flawless, tanned skin, and a wide, friendly smile that set everyone at ease. Even “Iggy the Icicle” it seemed was not immune to his charms.

But as he fixed that golden gaze on Ignis, Gladio seemed to go sad around the edges. “Look,” he said awkwardly, “I… I know this hasn’t really been your thing… you know… training and everything. You’re, well,” he shook his head, looking unusually unsure of himself. “You’re really smart, and you’re training Noct for life up there,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the palace itself. “We’ve known each other for, like, forever, but we haven’t really hung out much.” He nodded nervously and said, “I’m glad… It’s nice… you know?”

Ignis, for the first time in his relatively short life, had no words. He just blinked blankly.

Gladio huffed a laugh and added, “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re soaking all this up like a sponge too…” he scratched the back of his head and cursed. “Six, what I’m trying to say is I’m glad I’m finally able to do something _with_ you, and that… well, at least for a while, I stand half a chance of keeping up with you.”

“I don’t understand,” Ignis finally said. He was standing so straight that an engineer could have used him to take measurements from.

Gladio gave a full laugh this time and sat down with a sigh on the bench behind him. He was still clad in only a towel, white cotton wrapped around his waist like the statue of a young astral. “Gee, Iggy, I’m paying you a compliment here. You’re too damned good for me at practically everything. I never thought you’d be interested in training down here. I’m trying to say I’m glad there’s something we can do together for once.”

“Oh.” Ignis knew he should say something else, but he just couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t think at all. Eventually he kicked his brain back into life and coughed, fiddling with the cuffs he’d spent so long getting to sit just right. “I look forward to developing our friendship,” he said stiffly. He knew it was awful. He knew he should be more colloquial, but he’d spent his whole life around adults and academics. He had no idea how to behave around people his age. They weren’t even people: they were _children_. At fourteen, he was a child still, but he was expected to behave like an adult. He didn’t belong anywhere. Adults treated him like another adult, and children had no idea what to do with him, and so they just mocked him.

And yet here was Gladio, trying so damned hard. He felt like bolting again.

Gladio’s face, to his surprise, split into a grin. It was that wide, toothy grin he reserved for landing successful hits in training and being on the receiving end of a pot of cup noodles. “Look, I’ll let you get on. I’m sure Noct needs you.”

“I think the prince can manage without me for a couple of hours,” he said. “He even learned to tie his own shoelaces last week.”

Gladio blinked. Ignis had cracked a joke. That was an actual joke. Then that thousand kilowatt smile was back, ten times wider and just as stunning as before. He roared a laugh, and stood. He took one step towards Ignis, and brought his hand down to hover just above his shoulder like he’d pressed pause half way through giving him a pat. He cocked an eyebrow.

For a moment Ignis couldn’t read the question. And then he looked up at the hand and realised what Gladio was asking. He nodded, and Gladio finished the gesture.

The warmth of his palm through the smooth weave of his shirt and the gentle pressure of his fingers on the lean shoulder joint almost brought Ignis to tears. He offered a watery smile up at Gladio and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then he couldn’t bear it. The closeness was too much. Gladio had already seen too much of him. He nodded once, stooped, gathered the straps of his sports bag in his hand, and exited the locker room, his hard heels clacking on the tiles.

“See you around!” Gladio called after him.

Ignis paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and, as the door swung shut towards him, he smiled again. “Indeed.”

He didn’t miss the way Gladio’s fist, the one which had so recently engulfed his shoulder, pumped enthusiastically at his side, nor the way his eyes burned. That look was so unlike anything Ignis had ever experienced. It wasn’t just skin deep. Gladio saw through him.

Gladio saw _him_.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after his first training session with Cor and Gladio, Ignis gets to put his skills to the test. He also gets invited to Crowe's birthday party by Gladio. The cake doesn't turn up, so Ignis steps in to save the day, and earns Gladio's gratitude. How Gladio shows his gratitude is not quite what Ignis was expecting.

“Oi, spotty!”

_Really?_

Ignis flinched but tried to keep on walking before the Glaive cornered him. He’d born a grudge against Ignis since the corridor incident which had sparked his desire for self-defence training, but while he would toss ugly comments at Ignis whenever he got the chance, he hadn’t got him alone since then. Except now the Glaive wasn’t alone; he had friend with him, dressed in a Crownsguard training uniform. _Two of you. Perfect_ , Ignis thought sourly as he ground to a halt with his back to them, unable to stop himself.

“Hey, why don’t you ask the princess if he’s got any makeup you can use to hide all that shit on your face?”

Tears pricked hot behind his glasses, but he turned, stiff shouldered, and faced them. A year of physical training with Cor and Gladio had given him a certain degree of confidence, but he was still amazed that he’d had to wait so long for his first real test. He still hoped he wouldn’t need to. “Thank you,” he said coldly. “I’ll think on your advice.”

They snorted. “He can’t even tell we’re joking!”

“Fuck, what’s it gotta be like having zero emotions?” the Glaive laughed.

Something snapped inside him but he gritted his teeth and said, “Despite appearances, humour is _not_ lost on me. I didn’t laugh though because, surprisingly enough, I did not find it funny.”

“No?” the tall Glaive snarled, drawing himself up to his full height. At sixteen, he was the same age as Gladio, but Ignis wasn’t afraid this time.

“No.” Ignis’ voice was flat and dull.

They were the only ones in the locker room, and Ignis had _just_ dressed for a meeting with Regis later. His shirt was crisp and clean, and beautifully ironed. For once, the prince was also going to be attending this meeting, since his father had decided that it was a good idea for him to sit in on this one. Ignis would, of course, have to catch him up on what he’d missed in school, but Noct didn’t seem to mind. He’d actually looked forward to a change in his routine.

The Crownsguard, stockier than his Glaive friend, standing beside him, suddenly let out a throaty chuckle. The Glaive lunged at Ignis and pinned him to the lockers with a resounding clang. “How about now? You gonna feel something for me now, Specs?”

A dangerous smile kindled on Ignis’ face and he set his feet a little better underneath him, his lovely pressed shirt still scrumpled in the Glaive’s fingers. Quick as a whip-crack, he reached his opposite hand over the top of the Glaive’s wrist and twisted the hand, bending it back on itself as he did so. The Glaive’s eyes watered instantly and he yelped in pain and surprise. Then Ignis drove his knee up hard into the boy’s crotch and snarled through bared teeth, “How does _that_ **_feel_**?”

When the Glaive folded in half and dropped to the floor, Ignis released his hand and made to leave the room, but the Crownsguard was barrelling at him like a charging garula. Ignis rolled his eyes and in the second or two before the boy closed on him, he decided what to do. He stepped to one side and grabbed the raised fist in an armlock, pivoting him around from the shoulder and kicking his knees out from under him.

The door opened behind him, and a very surprised Gladio filled the doorway, bag on his shoulder, sweat beading on his hairline. He clearly had just come from a training session and had not expected to find Ignis knocking two of the royal trainees on their arses in the locker room. “You good?” he asked calmly, not looking at the two boys on the floor anymore.

“Fine,” Ignis said, letting go of the Crownsguard.

“What happened?” Gladio asked as he stepped into the room. The atmosphere changed. They knew full well who this was, and they didn’t like it one bit. As an Amicitia alone he outranked them, but he’d been promoted within the ranks of trainees and now had full permission to make their lives hell if he so desired.

The calm in Ignis’ tone belied deep feelings. “They kindly brought to my attention that I had something on my face, assuming _perhaps_ that I was unaware of my condition, and they wondered if maybe the prince would loan me some makeup to hide it. I wasn’t aware that the prince wore makeup, but clearly they know more about makeup than I do.”

Gladio’s jaw clenched and he cast his eyes down on the two smaller boys on the floor. “Oh yeah?” he said with a dangerously soft sarcasm. The Glaive was not on his feet yet, but the Crownsguard boy was staggering upright, rubbing his upper arm where Ignis had ground the hard edge of his hand into the soft muscle during the armlock.

Gladio cocked his head on one side, still smiling a horrible smile down at him. “Matthis isn’t it?” he asked, his voice light and sharp as a shuriken.

“Sir…?”

He smirked, and then looked at the Glaive and demanded, “Name?”

“Lazarus, Luche, sir,” he hissed, hands still cradling his crotch.

“Ahh,” Gladio breathed. “Of course.”

“You know these two?” Ignis asked.

“I know this one,” Gladio snorted at the Crownsguard. Then a real shit-eater of grin spread across his handsome face. “But I’m gonna recycle ‘em both so fast, they’ll be back in basic before they even know what’s hit ‘em.”

The terms clearly meant something to the Crownsguard and the Glaive, because the Glaive went white as the tiles he was lying on, and the Crownsguard simpered, “Please, sir, don’t… we were just having a laugh…”

“Yeah? You think it’s funny now?” he snarled. “You see me laughing too?”

“No, sir,” he mumbled.

Gladio had not finished. “How about I rub something on your face that brings you up in a pretty rash and see how hard you laugh when everyone starts pointing at it?”

“Gladio, that’s really not necessary,” Ignis protested quietly.

Gladio’s sharp teeth flashed as he grinned again and stepped back from the shivering Crownsguard. “Get out of here, you pair of shits,” he spat. “And report to Cor. And you fucking tell him why you’re there.”

“Sir,” the both yipped in unison as they skedaddled from the room.

“Hard to believe they’re the same age as you,” Ignis remarked, straightening his shirt.

“Cor was bodyguard to the king at fifteen,” was all he said in answer, staring at the ground where Ignis had tipped them both to the tiles. “Nice work there,” he grinned, finally looking back at Ignis.

“Thank you,” he said lightly. “I wasn’t sure I would be able to do it, but all that practice kicked in and it was surprisingly easy.”

“Told ya,” he grinned, slapping him on the shoulder without thinking. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled as he remembered.

But Ignis hadn’t flinched. He hadn’t even reacted. He was just looking at him with a steady smile on those lips of his. Gladio had to look away again as a slight flush crept up his cheeks.

“What did you mean when you said you’d ‘recycle’ them?” Ignis asked, collecting his satchel from the floor and straightening.

He snorted a laugh and said, “Recycling them would mean they go back to basic training, or at least they go back a few stages. They’d be doing stuff they’ve already covered. It’s like sending them back a year in school.”

“You could do that?”

He shot him a sideways look and said, “Well, we _could_ … We like to let them _think_ it’s the easiest thing in the world to just send someone back. It isn’t. There’s a fuck-ton of paperwork and admin bullshit… Not worth the hassle unless someone’s, like, sick or something. Then it’s ok.”

“I see.”

“You heading out?” Gladio asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. Ignis nodded, and Gladio fell into step beside him as they emerged into the bright day outside. “I’ll grab a shower at home.”

Ignis looked at his watch and hummed thoughtfully. When he caught the sound, Gladio flashed a questioning frown, and Ignis replied, “I have fifteen minutes to kill before I need to make my way to a meeting.” His green eyes fell on a sunny bench beneath a cherry tree, and he nodded his head at it. “Think I’ll just sit there for a moment.”

“Iggy, resting idle for _fifteen_ minutes?” Gladio jibed playfully. “Surely not.”

“It happens,” Ignis retorted, earning himself another bright smile from his friend.

“Mind if I join you?”

They sat in amicable silence for a while, Ignis surveying the wide plaza and the people coming and going, Gladio just watching the clouds scud by overhead through the rainbow sheen of the Wall. After a time, Gladio sighed deeply, and then looked at Ignis. “Listen, it’s Crowe’s birthday – you know Crowe, right?”

Ignis nodded. “I’ve seen her train a few times.”

“Have you?” he smirked, cocking an eyebrow.

Ignis didn’t miss a beat and replied flatly, “I have.”

“Figures you’d go for the mage,” he snorted.

“You make her sound like one of Noct’s video game characters…”

“Well, I can’t see you with a dumb tank,” he muttered under his breath, so low that Ignis almost didn’t catch it. “Anyway, we’re throwing her a party. A bunch of us are going. I though you might like to come.”

Ignis narrowed his eyes and pulled his head back an inch or two.

“Ok, fine,” Gladio laughed, “I knew you’d actually hate it, and that it’s the last thing you’d _actively_ like to do, but I was hoping you’d still come anyway.”

“Why?”

“Keep me company,” he admitted.

“Keep _you_ company? Gladio, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you alone…”

Sadness washed over Gladio’s face, washing every trace of playfulness and joviality away. It reminded Ignis of a wave washing a finger-drawing in the sand into blankness with one sweep. “Yeah. Well, think about it. It’s tomorrow night.”

“Where?”

Gladio shifted. “My dad actually agreed to let us have it back at the mansion.”

Ignis’ eyes went wide. “He did? And with what, exactly, did you have to bribe him?”

“Told him I’d babysit Iris every night and weekend for the rest of the month,” he said bashfully.

“You must like Crowe a lot then,” he mused. He hadn’t intended it to come out with that weird inflection, that tension, but when it did, he looked away, unable to watch Gladio’s reaction.

He chuckled. “Ah, Iris isn’t so bad. And anyway, Crowe’s great. She’s a good friend. We train a lot together. Her, and Libertus, and Nyx, and me.”

Ignis sighed, feeling on the outside of things again.

Gladio stood and stretched out his back, popping his shoulders and cracking his neck with a deep grunt of satisfaction.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asked, concerned.

“Yeah, just been pushing it kinda hard lately,” he mumbled.

“Don’t push it too hard,” he said as he rose to his feet as well.

Gladio’s face darkened. “You sound like my dad now,” he grumbled.

“Apologies,” he murmured. “That was not my intention.”

A huge sigh escaped Gladio’s chest and he turned to look at him. He had to tilt his head down, having enjoyed yet another growth spurt while Ignis had not. “I know. Anyway, I gotta run, but think about the party, ok?”

Ignis nodded. “I will.”

“Text me when you’ve decided?”

Ignis nodded again.

Ignis had been to the Amicitia mansion only once, and that had been to accompany his uncle on a visit to Clarus when Ignis had been only ten. He looked at his watch. It had taken him longer to get there than he’d anticipated, and he was five minutes late. It was a feeling he loathed. His insides crawled and he sped up his pace, careful not to exert himself to the point of perspiring in the warm evening.

He held a small gift in his hand, wrapped up with creases so perfect they looked like they’d been ironed down. He’d had no idea what to get her, so he’d just made a small box of chocolates. Everyone liked chocolates, surely?

By the time he got to the door, he could hear music playing softly inside. Gladio answered the door and beamed at him. “Come in.” Standing back and waving him in, Gladio’s smile faded rapidly, and Ignis wondered what was wrong.

“How are you?” he asked as he followed Gladio into the living room to the source of the music. The room was empty. He stopped, his insides plummeting. “Am I early?” _Are you playing a horrible joke on me?_

“No,” Gladio smiled. “No one turns up for the start of a party usually.”

“Oh.” Ignis looked down at the gift in his hands. “Do people still give presents on birthdays?”

“Course they do,” he laughed. He nodded at a table. “Put it over there.” He checked his phone and slid it back into his pocket while Ignis deposited the present on the table. When he returned, he saw that Gladio’s face was puckered into a frown.

“Forgive me, but you seem… troubled?”

Gladio gave a cavernous sigh and swore. “Me and Nyx ordered a cake for Crowe, but Nyx just said he got a message from them saying there was a mix-up. Long story short: shops are shut now, and we’ve got no cake.”

Ignis blinked, still hung up on the incorrect use of ‘me and’, but he let it go. “Do you have ingredients here?”

“You wanna make her one? We don’t have that long before she gets here…”

“I can’t make one before she arrives,” he said, “But it’ll take roughly fifteen minutes to mix, twenty-five minutes to bake, and another half an hour to cool properly and ice. Could you present her with it at the end of the party instead?”

Gladio gazed at Ignis with a blank kind of awe on his face.

Ignis cast his eyes towards the kitchen and began to walk towards it. Bowls of snacks sat on the side, and he said, “People can eat these first and eat the cake afterwards as a dessert…”

“Iggy, you’re amazing. You think you can pull it off?”

“I’m no magician,” he said, “But I have been known to pull rabbits out of hats at the last moment before. I’ll give it a go.” Plus it meant he could hide in the kitchen, and it gave him a legitimate excuse not to talk to people.

He enquired what flavour they had selected from the cake shop who had let them down, and then Gladio showed him the cupboard and told him to go to town.

Just shy of an hour later, Gladio stuck his head through the door. There were party streamers in his hair, and possibly even a chip, and his face was flushed. “Yo, Iggy,” he grinned. “How’s it going? You gonna leave the cake cave and come join us?”

Ignis swallowed and eyed the oven. “I… I think I should monitor the progress of the cake…” he said vaguely. He’d never been a convincing liar. “It’s almost ready.”

Gladio’s expression cracked a bit, and he stepped fully into the kitchen. The nearer he came to Ignis, the sadder his face got, until, standing only a metre or so away from Ignis, he looked like a kicked puppy. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I made you come to this. You clearly didn’t want to, and I guilt tripped you into coming, and then when you did come, you ended up in here on your own, saving our asses. I’m sorry, Ignis.”

Ignis smiled. “It’s quite alright, Gladio. I’m happy to help.”

Gladio rolled his eyes. “ _Tch_ ,” he complained, “You’re not supposed to be here to _help_. You’re supposed to be here to have some fun.”

A sigh escaped him and he pushed his glasses up his nose again. “I’m quite content in here, I assure you. I have actually been able to read a paper I needed to read before my session with my tutor tomorrow, so –” Gladio cut him off with an exasperated sigh and bowed his head. “What?” Ignis asked. “I thought you would be pleased to know that I hadn’t been prevented from keeping up with my studies because of the party…?”

When Gladio raised his head again, he still looked deeply sad.

Ignis didn’t understand it at all. Why was he so upset? How had he done the wrong thing now? “I… Gladio, I…” he shook his head in confusion. “What have I done? What have I said?”

“Shit, Iggy, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he blurted. A stray party streamer fluttered out of his hair but he ignored it. “You’re super-fucking-human, you know that?”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t follow.”

Gladio’s face finally split into a smile and he said, “You’re not even sixteen yet, and I’m fairly certain you’ve got a PhD already, but you don’t get how amazing you are.”

“I understand that my intelligence and capacity for learning far exceeds that of the average fifteen year old,” he said, “But what I do not understand are your current reactions. You seemed distressed that I was in here, but I assured you I am perfectly content to be able to contribute to the evening by baking a cake and occasionally refilling the snack bowls as required. You still appear upset, and I don’t understand. I’m sorry.”

Gladio blinked. He brought his arm up to Ignis’ shoulder and paused. “May I?”

Ignis gave a tiny answering nod.

Gladio lowered his palm over Ignis shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry. Mum always says I’m an open book. I’m not used to people not reading me…” He let his thumb trace a slow circle over the shoulder joint before he released him. “I should have just accepted that you’re ok in here. I forget what it must be like for you sometimes. You don’t get the chance to hang out with people our age. It doesn’t seem fair.” He sighed. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

A small smile pulled the corners of Ignis’ lips up, like a caught thread on a woollen jumper. Then he sighed. “Books are easy to read. People…? People are so difficult.”

“Nah,” he smiled, releasing Ignis. “It’s like poker. You just have to learn their tells and match it to the meaning.”

Ignis’ smile widened at Gladiolus’ efforts to cheer him up, and his eyes snagged on the detritus in Gladio’s hair. He raised his hand and _he_ paused just shy of touching _Gladio_ this time, and asked, “May I?”

Gladio’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin that made something fizz in Ignis’ stomach, and he said, “Sure, thanks.” He bowed his head so that Ignis could reach better, but Ignis didn’t miss the little smile the older boy tried to hide with the gesture.

Ignis gently extracted the stray tortilla chip from the top of Gladio’s mane, and then began to untangle the pastel coloured party streamers from just above his ear. He liked the way the shaved sides showed the soft curve of his ear, and he noted with a smile that Gladio’s earlobes were impossibly delicate. He’d never been quite this close to him before, not even in sparring. Gladio’s ears were entirely proportionate with the rest of his head, but there was something fascinatingly sweet about the fact that his earlobes were attached, and really quite tiny. Ignis had the sudden urge to run the pad of his thumb over them.

The timer on the cooker beeped and Ignis excused himself. As he opened the oven, Gladio hummed, “Mmm, Iggy, that smells amazing.” His voice seemed perhaps a little gruffer and deeper than it had been a moment or two earlier, but Ignis devoted himself to extracting the two cake tins from the oven and testing them to see if the two halves of the cake were ready. They were, and he set them on a cooling rack.

“When they’re cool enough, I’ll ice them and complete the sandwich, and then you can take it out to her. Do you have candles?”

Gladio was still staring at Ignis, but he blinked and coughed. “Er, yeah. In that top drawer I think. That’s where all the random shit gets shoved in this place.”

Someone yelled for Gladio to come and answer an arm-wrestling challenge, and Ignis chuckled. “Sounds like your honour is on the line out there…”

“You can hold the fort in here ok?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Ignis smiled. “Don’t worry about the catering division. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried,” Gladio grinned as he headed to the door. “And thanks,” he said, gesturing at his hair.

Ignis only inclined his head and turned his attention to making the chocolate frosting for the cake. When he was done, and the words ‘Happy Birthday Crowe!’ were iced in perfect copperplate writing on the top, looping around the deftly placed candles, he sucked in a deep breath and headed for the doorway.

The arm wrestling was still going on, but he caught Gladio’s eye as he eliminated another target and moved up the leader board. Gladio stood, amid cheers and boos, and crossed to him. “S’up?” he asked.

“The cake is ready to be lit,” he said shyly. He stepped to one side and gestured at the counter.

Gladio’s golden eyes went wide. “Holy shit, Iggy,” he exclaimed. “Fuck, it’s perfect!”

A nervous chuckle fluttered out of his chest. “I’m relieved,” he said.

“Wow. It looks amazing. I don’t know that I wanna take it out there now… I might just keep it to myself…” He shot a look at Ignis who was frowning. “But I won’t, don’t worry. That’s not my name on the top, and you made it for her. It’s ok.”

Blushing, Ignis smiled, swallowed, and turned to the sink.

“You’re not gonna watch?”

“I’d prefer not to, if it’s all the same to you,” he muttered. The thought of stepping out as though he were expecting praise and recognition filled him with horror.

“Fair ‘nuff,” Gladio sighed. He lit the candles with the kitchen lighter and then nudged the door open with his toe, calling, “Oi, shut up. Cake!”

The chorus of ‘happy birthday’ started and Ignis smiled as he imagined them crowding round it, Crow pursing her lips and blowing them out, smoke furling gently around the top of the cake. He sighed. He’d only make it awkward if he were in there.

He’d made a fair bit of mess so he stacked the bowls and began to wash the utensils up, losing himself in the mundanity of it all until a while later when the kitchen door cracked open and Ignis looked up, expecting to see Gladiolus.

His eyes widened when a scrawny brunette stepped into the room, her hair piled up on top of her head with a few wispy bits falling loose around her face. There was a smudge of chocolate icing in the corner of her mouth. “Hey, Ignis,” she said shyly. “Um, so Gladio said you saved the day with the cake…”

He wasn’t sure how to react to that without sounding pompous, so he continued washing up, but smiled shyly.

“It was amazing. Seriously, I’ve never had a better cake in my whole life. Thank you so much.”

He paused, the sponge dripping water back into the bowl with a rapid-fire drip-drip-drip that matched his own heartbeat for speed. “My pleasure,” he finally said.

A warm smile dawned on her face and she stepped further into the room, drawing closer to him. She was the same age as him now, but she wasn’t as tall. She rested her hand briefly on his shoulder and tipped up onto her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. His skin flushed and he looked down at the washing up bowl in embarrassment, fighting the urge to wipe his cheek. He knew that would be rude.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Best birthday present ever.”

And then she skipped from the room. A chorus of cheers rang out when she emerged, and Ignis’ heart plummeted.

“Did you do it?” someone jeered.

“Uh-huh,” came Crowe’s response.

Ignis’ heart sank just a little further. The kiss had been a dare, and once again he was the butt of everyone’s joke.

“Did he puke?” a girl asked.

“Hit you?” the first voice added.

“Fuck off,” she snapped. “He’s sweet.”

“He’s a fucking weirdo,” came the first voice, thin, reedy and male. “Seriously, who comes to a party and just sits in the kitchen the whole time? Freak.”

A short crack broke the silence, followed by a collective intake of breath.

Ignis held his own, wondering what on earth was going on. Was Crowe really defending his honour?

“Bitch,” the first boy hissed. “You _bitch_!”

Gladio’s deeper voice suddenly cut in. “Oi, she had every right, you shit,” he snarled. “Ignis didn’t _have_ to spend all fucking evening in there, but he did it so Crowe could have a fucking birthday cake.”

“Gladiolus!”

Everyone fell deathly silent. Everyone knew that voice. Clarus Amicitia had stepped into the room. “Father,” he said petulantly, not sounding terribly abashed.

“Language,” the king’s shield admonished. “And you,” he added, presumably directing his fury at the jeering boy, “Should be ashamed of yourself. Alright,” he said, clapping his hands. “Come on, get out. All of you. It’s late anyway.”

There was a groan and a load of shuffling, but slowly the room emptied. Ignis finished washing up with the detached focus of a droid, dried his hands, and then crossed to collect his bag from the far end of the beautiful and now gleaming kitchen. Leaving the room, he saw that Gladio was sitting on the sofa while his father stared down at him, speaking in hushed tones. The room was a mess, with party streamers hanging off the light fittings, crisps and chips ground to dust on the hardwood floor, and even the odd spattering of dip on the upholstery. It made Ignis’ skin crawl all over again at the sight of it.

He didn’t want to interrupt, but he felt the deepening urge to offer to help clean up. When Clarus looked up at him, his face was surprisingly kind, but Ignis still swallowed hard before speaking. “My Lord Amicitia,” he said, bowing. “Would you like me to stay and clean up?”

Clarus’ face softened and he shook his head. “No, Ignis, thank you. As I understand it, you’ve already helped out enough tonight. Why don’t you head back home to your uncle? Gladiolus can clean it.”

“That seems unfair,” Ignis frowned.

Gladio laughed nervously and stood. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve cleaned up worse messes than this, right dad?”

Clarus shot him an icy glare which spoke volumes. “Indeed.” He sighed. “Say your farewells, and then come back and sort this out.”

Gladio nodded and his father left the room as Ignis made his way out behind him to the front door. With it standing open, the chilly night air swirled around them, and Gladio followed him out into the hallway. He raised his hand to scratch his hair and sighed. “Well,” he said when they were alone. “That could have ended better…”

“I’m sorry if –” Ignis began, but Gladio held up his hand.

“Don’t even…” he began, smiling. “I know you, but this wasn’t your fault at all. That little shit is a friend of Matthis. And… Crowe didn’t mean any harm either…”

“I didn’t think she did,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “Still… it’s gratifying to hear you say it.”

Gladio snorted softly and then stepped close to him.

Too close.

Not too close to be comfortable, but too close for social norms. Ignis stared up at him, but before he could formulate a question, Gladio had embraced him. A jolt of shock shot up his spine, but he didn’t move or struggle or panic. Gladio’s big hand cradled the back of his head for half a moment before he nuzzled briefly against the side of his head beside his ear. His glasses got knocked off on a wonk, but with his arms pinned to his sides, he couldn’t correct them. Gladio was throwing off a huge amount of heat, he was too close, he was all over him, and yet… and yet Ignis didn’t entirely hate it. And then it was all over. Gladio had stepped back, blushing slightly.

Ignis blinked, nodded, pushed his glasses up his nose, and fled out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to call this chapter ‘the way he looks’ because of the ending of the party scene that beautiful film (seriously, find it on Netflix or something if you don't know it, it's gorgeous). 
> 
> Anyway, I worked my arse off to write all this and post it today, so forgive any grammar/weirdo errors. Thank you so much for your wonderful comments on the previous chapters - I was really touched by them. I hope you like more of this version of Iggy. He's found a very special place in my heart. As ever, kudos/comments are gratefully received, but I'm also happy you read this far :).


	4. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio's mother isn't mentioned, to my knowledge. I HC that she's a hunter, separated/divorced from Clarus, and dies when Gladio is in his teens. In this chapter, Gladio deals (or not) with the news of his mother's passing, and his fears for what it will mean for him, and Ignis surprises him with his empathy. 
> 
> Warnings for parental death and grief.

 

Gladio was sitting on the grass by the small ornamental koi pond in the gardens. His back was hunched over, and he was hugging his knees. Even Ignis could interpret his emotions. He looked thoroughly miserable. He took a deep breath and walked silently over the grass to join him.  

He folded into the grass beside him, sitting cross-legged next to the older boy without a word.  

Gladio looked at him and then looked away.  

“What happened?” Ignis asked.  

Gladio’s lip trembled.  

“Gladio?” 

He sniffed and his face crumpled. He was trying so hard not to cry.  

Ignis bit his lip and slid his palm carefully over Gladio’s huge shoulder blades. “If you want to, you can talk to me,” he said. He had no idea how to comfort the other boy, but he ached to ease his suffering. 

“It’s mum,” he finally rasped. It was quickly followed by an ugly hiccup. “She…” he began to shake and couldn’t finish the sentence. 

Ignis feared the worst, and when Gladio looked up again, he saw how red and puffy his eyes were. He’d been crying for hours. Ignis drew him closer and Gladio allowed himself to fall onto Ignis’ shoulder. He let out another hiccup and murmured something Ignis didn’t catch before burying his face in Ignis’ neck. His hands worked into fists in his lap, clenching with a grief that Ignis knew all too well. The ties to his own mother had been severed when he was very young, but he recalled the pain of her loss, her absence. “What happened?” he asked before he’d thought about it, thought about how painful it might be to talk of it, especially so soon. 

“Hunting…” Gladio gulped. “She went off on her own. She’s… she… so stubborn. Wouldn’t wait for the others…”  

Ignis knew the Amicitias had separated a long time ago, Clarus remaining in the city as the king’s shield with Iris and Gladio, while their mother went and joined the hunters. He knew that Gladio loved his mother fiercely too. “I’m so sorry,” he said. Unexpectedly, he began to card his fingers through Gladio’s thick hair, surprised at how soft it was. He slipped his other hand around one of Gladio’s clenched fists, trying to stop him from hurting himself with the strength of his own muscles. 

Five minutes passed, with Gladio resting his weight against Ignis while the younger boy stroked his hair and held his hand. Finally Gladio’s fingers relaxed and he allowed Ignis to loop his fingers around into his palm, his thumb tracing circles over his knuckles. Suddenly, Gladio realised what was happening, and he sat bolt upright, staring at their hands in his lap.  

His amber eyes darted to Ignis’ face, and widened when they saw the soft smile on Ignis’ lips and the knowing expression in his deep green eyes. “Iggy,” he croaked in disbelief.  

Ignis inclined his head, and sighed. “I _can_ show emotion, you know,” he said with a trace of humour. “And I can be empathetic. I’m not able to show it to just anyone though.” 

Gladio gave him a watery smile.  

“You’ll be alright,” he said.  

“What about Iris? What’s she gonna do without her mum?” 

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “And if you need anything, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” 

Gladio’s smile twitched a little higher and he sniffed, cuffing the snot from his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry you had to see all this,” he grunted, sitting back and letting go of Ignis’ hand.  

The sudden loss of contact felt like a parachute cord cut, and Ignis sat incredibly still as he tried to stop the freefall inside him. “Don’t worry yourself over it,” he said finally. “You’ve been there for me. I’m only too happy to be here for you now.” 

Gladio drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them. “Does it stop hurting?” he asked after a moment staring at the ripples of the fish as they breached the surface. 

“It stings less frequently,” he said, also watching the fish. “The pain doesn’t get easier, but it comes to you less often.” 

Gladio nodded. His phone was ringing and he sniffed again and dug around in his pocket for it. “Yeah?” 

Ignis stood, pressing a hand into his shoulder and stepping away to give him some privacy.  

A little while later, Gladio stood and looked over at Ignis just once before he offered him a tiny smile, nodded, and then walked away. 

Ignis sighed, wondering just what effect he’d had on Gladio, if any.  

Turning up as usual for his training session the next day, he met Clarus Amicitia storming down the corridor towards the training hall. Their paths collided outside the doors and Clarus halted so that he didn’t flatten the boy. In the heartbeat of silence as the king’s shield regarded him, the muffled sounds of a heavy-bag taking a pounding, and the grunts and shouts of its assailant reached their ears. Ignis looked around and peered through the glass pane of the training room door to see Gladio, top bare, with Crownsguard sweatpants hanging low on his hips, pounding the absolute shit out of the heavy-bag. “He’s going to hurt himself,” Clarus muttered. “I have to stop him. Excuse me.” 

“Sir?” Ignis piped up, “May I?” 

“You?” he barked.  

“Yes sir. I believe I can talk to him.” 

Clarus scoffed. “He just lost his mother,” he began, but Ignis dared to cut him off. 

“I know.” 

“You do?” 

“He told me yesterday,” he said. “Please, at least let me try.” 

“Fine,” Clarus snapped, waving him away like a fly.  

Ignis opened the doors and slipped his shoes off inside. His feet were quiet on the mats as he padded over to where Gladio was beating the heavy-bag into submission. “Gladio?” he called as he got closer. The boy either couldn’t’ hear him or was ignoring him. “Gladio?” Still nothing.  

He drew level with the hanging bag and was shocked to see that Gladio wasn’t wearing gloves. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised. Ignis reached to steady the swaying bag and stepped in close. So close that he risked taking one of those punches to his side. “Gladio,” he repeated one last time.  

The future shield seemed to see him then for the first time. He didn’t jump or start, but blinked slowly as Ignis came into focus.  

“You hurt yourself,” Ignis stated, looking at his tattered knuckles.  

Breathing hard, Gladio stepped back and looked down. Opening his hands, he turned them over a few times, his gaze distant. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“Let me give you a potion for them,” Ignis said.  

“I need to get stronger,” Gladio said, his voice sounding odd, like it wasn’t coming from the sixteen year old. “I need…” 

“You will, with time, and proper training,” Ignis reassured him. “But this isn’t going to help anyone.” He gestured at the bloody smears on the heavy-bag. “You need to take care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else.” 

“Iggy,” he breathed, his golden eyes huge and full of fear. “I’m scared.” 

“I know. But you’re not alone. You don’t have to protect Iris and Noctis and everyone all on your own. Let me help you.” 

His lip shook and he took a step backwards, eyes falling to his hands again. “Why did she have to go? She knew she had to take care of us as well. Why did she… have to be so gods-damned reckless?” 

Ignis sighed he wasn’t qualified for this. “People process things in different ways, Gladio. Look at you and me…” 

Gladio blinked. “Yeah? What did you do when…?” 

“I didn’t speak for six months,” he said. “And I read. A lot.” 

“Six months?” 

“Imagine being silent for six months,” Ignis smiled.  

“I don’t think I could shut up for a day,” Gladio retorted. 

Ignis’ smile widened. “You don’t know how you’re going to react. You just have to trust the people that love you.” Gladio blinked, and Ignis felt his face flush. “I learned to open up to my uncle,” he added swiftly, “When I was sent to live here. You just have to find someone to help you through it.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and said, “I would like to be that person, but if I’m not, I understand.” 

Gladio stood quietly for a moment. His breathing had settled, and from the looks of the little wince he gave as he moved his fingers, feeling was returning to his body. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks. I’d like that.” 

“My bag is just outside the door. Let me get it. I think I have a potion in there.” 

“You carry ‘em around?” Gladio asked, following Ignis meekly to the door.  

“When you have the prince as your charge, it never hurts to be too careful.” He tossed him a wry smirk and added, “And when your friend is a raging behemoth, it comes in handy too.” 

Gladio took the comment with good grace, and laughed softly. “Thanks, Iggy. I owe you one.” 

“Not at all,” Ignis said, shaking his head. “You’ve pulled me out of a number of situations. It is, as I understand it, what friends are for.” Clarus was still lingering outside like a demon at night, so Ignis turned to Gladio and added, “Wait here. Your father looks like he wants to flay you alive. I’ll get the potion and come back.” 

Gladio nodded and halted.  

“Well?” Clarus barked, but Ignis didn’t look at him.  

“Just a moment, my lord,” he said politely, before ducking back into the training hall and leaving an astonished Clarus Amicitia standing, rejected, in the hallway beyond.  

Gladio snorted as Ignis returned. “What did you say to him? He looks like you stuffed a malboro sprout up his arse.” 

Ignis laughed. It was such a rare sound that Gladio stopped and stared at him for a moment before joining in himself. “I fear I might have offended him,” he admitted as he cracked the potion over Gladio’s raw hands. “Will you defend me against him?” 

“Always,” Gladio grinned.  

Ignis nodded, smiling, and stepped back. “After you then, shield…” 

Gladio’s grin broadened to a toothy, white smirk, and he stepped out, eyes up, head proud, to face his father. Clarus surprised them both by offering nothing more than a knowing look to his son, and a curt nod to Ignis, before turning on his heel and leaving the training centre. “Looks like you don’t need a shield after all,” Gladio mumbled, watching his father’s retreating back.  

“I am still, however, in need of a friend,” he said quietly, putting his hand on the back of Gladio’s bare arm. “I’ll see you around.” 

Gladio nodded and sighed while Ignis walked away towards the locker rooms. “Hey, Iggy,” he called, his voice booming down the empty hallway. 

Ignis turned to see his friend still grinning.  

“Thanks.” 

Ignis inclined his head, smiled, and left.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this in ages, and I found this chapter written already when I came back to it tonight, so I thought I'd add the chapter and bring these two dorks closer to one another. This au Ignis has a very special place in my heart, and thank you for your comments. It really means the world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years since the death of Gladio's mother, Gladio is eighteen and stronger than ever. After a moment of self revelation that leaves him unable to look Ignis in the eye, he accidentally uses a burst of that strength on Ignis himself, leaving Gladio shaken to his core. Luckily, Ignis seems to have the opposite reaction to the one Gladio expected him to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very sorry it's taken me so long to write more of this story. If anyone is even still reading it, thank you. Have some gladnis angst-and-fluff in apology...

Gladio sighed and shouldered the heavy greatsword. He was taller now, having endured another, quite frankly painful, growth spurt that put him at just over six foot, with muscles to match. All the others his age were shorter and slighter than him, and it was no fun training any more. He won too easily.

The only sessions he really looked forward to were his private sessions with Cor. Though when Ignis joined them it was fun too. He paused to smile at the thought of Ignis, and as he did, he realised he had a session with him later that day. His smile faded though, and something else began to gnaw at the pit of his stomach.

Lost in thought, he returned the training sword to the lockup room.

In the two years since his mother’s passing, he had learned a lot of things.

He could now braid hair, though Iris had lately had it all cut short while he was busy letting his grow out a bit; he’d become surprisingly proficient with a sewing machine; knew all the latest pop songs; and most recently, had taken to wearing a neon pink and lime green loom band bracelet on his wrist to showcase Iris’ latest obsession. No one dared make a remark about it though. They knew better than to poke fun at a behemoth with a little sister he doted on.

At eighteen, Gladio had also learned about sex. He knew he was attractive, not just his muscular physique, but he had a handsome face and an easy smile that set women at ease, even those much older than him, and he would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t used it to his advantage. Raging hormones made for questionable decisions.

But while Ignis, he was fairly certain, had learned a great many things of his own, had not been spending his spare time shacking up with women. Gladio knew he was lonely, but not from his lack of a sex life. He found it hard to connect with people, especially with his strong aversion to being touched.

Gladio had asked him about it after their training session the previous day, but he’d discovered more about himself in that moment than he had about Ignis.

_“Ig?”_

_The younger boy had smiled, turning, a flannel towel draped artfully over his slim shoulders. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Hmm?”_

_And in that moment, Gladio had been struck entirely dumb. Ignis was **beautiful**. Where had all the raw, painful-looking acne gone? He’d filled out too, the gangly youth becoming a hard, lean young man almost overnight. _

_His voice was deeper too now. “Gladio?”_

_Golden eyes watched Ignis’ throat work as he swallowed nervously, his sharp Adam’s apple bobbing once._

_“Is something wrong?”_

_“Wha-?” Gladio grunted, blinking and clearing his own throat. The sound was ragged, like a log grinder chewing up dry branches. “Sorry, uh… I was gonna ask you…”_

_Ignis’ lips twitched in the corner and he turned to face him properly. “Sounds like you’re about to ask a girl out on a date, Gladio,” he joked. “What’s got you so nervous?”_

_Ignis had no idea how incisive his words were. In that moment, with those steady green eyes pinning him to the spot like he’d suddenly taken up root there, Gladio’s heart hammered against his ribs. Ignis was **beautiful**. More beautiful than any woman he’d ever set his golden eyes on. “Nothing,” he laughed. “I’m just winded after you put me on my back so many times. When’d you get so good anyway?”_

_“Those sessions with Cor are paying off,” Ignis chuckled, taking the towel from around his neck and dabbing it gently over his now-exposed collarbones and up his neck._

_Did he have any idea how graceful he was?_

_Those hands were so delicate, the fingers strong and unfaltering, not like Gladio’s which were thick and knuckly, tanned, bruised, and nicked by many a blade. His were flawless. The ligaments and tendons shifted, the fine bones and veins looking more like one of the king’s prized antique marble sculptures from the hay days of Solheim than living flesh._

_He swallowed again. It was like trying to swallow dry sawdust. “Yeah,” he said stupidly. The comment about Cor’s sessions gave him a way in to ask the question he’d originally set out to ask, and he said, “The whole touch thing doesn’t seem to be as big of an issue for you any more…?” He made it a question, even though it was pretty much a statement._

_Ignis laughed softly and Gladio felt the floor rock beneath his feet. Ignis’ lips were parted a little, chin tilted ever so slightly upwards, his white teeth flashing, but what made Gladio’s eyes water for a moment and his heart leap to his mouth were the little dimples at the corners of Ignis’ mouth. He must have seen them before, surely? But now it was like he’d never seen any part of Ignis at all. “It’s become a lot easier to manage,” Ignis said finally. Then those slender eyebrows pinched in the middle and the laughter died on his tongue. “Are you sure you’re quite well, Gladio?” he asked._

_“Fine,” he coughed, shaking himself as he made his way to the training-room doors. “I… er, I should go take a shower. Gotta meet my dad later.”_

_Ignis nodded. “I’ll join you.”_

_Gladio tripped over the bag he’d stooped to pick up by the door, and had to shoot out a hand to catch himself on the door frame as he missed the handles of the gym bag and nearly fell flat on his face._ Get yourself together. That’s not what he meant at all.

_Ignis’ hand was at his elbow, grabbing him, yanking him backwards to stop him toppling those final few inches onto his front. “Gladio?” he barked, his voice sharp._

_He tried to laugh it off, but the feel of Ignis’ fingertips on the ghostly outlines of his budding tattoo were like a lifeline. He wrenched himself free, telling himself it was better to go into freefall than dangle there at the end of Ignis’ arm, staring up at him like some star-struck teenager. “You really did a number on me,” he laughed loudly, picking the bag up and slinging it over his shoulder. “Maybe_ you _should be Noct’s shield and I’ll retire early and open up a flower shop or something.”_

_Ignis frowned again, but didn’t add anything as he followed him out into the hallway._

_Gladio could see the cogs turning though, and wondered what thoughts were going to drop out the other end of that process. He didn’t want to be there when they did._

_In the privacy of his shower stall he had eased the tension that had built up in him so quickly he hadn’t noticed til he was in the changing rooms trying to hide a raging hard-on behind the gym bag._

Since then, he hadn’t been able to look Ignis in the eye.

Two weeks later, Ignis had cottoned on to the fact that something was up. But every time Ignis opened that mouth of his to bring it up, Gladio ducked or side-stepped out of the conversation and either found a way to bring up a new topic or to leave the room.

It wasn’t until it was his turn to pick Noctis up from school that Ignis finally got the upper hand.

Fridays were Gladio’s day to collect Noct, and invariably Prompto, because Ignis had a tutoring session to work on the finer points of his PhD thesis or something. So, as usual, he drew the Regalia up in front of the school and waited. It was a warm, summer day, and with the engine off, the car began to heat up, so he unbuttoned his shirt a bit and stepped out into the slightly fresher air outside. Leaning his body against the Regalia, he crossed his arms over his impressive chest and tilted his face up to the sun a bit.

The face that floated before him in his mind’s eye was Ignis’. He screwed his eyes shut and then opened them. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. This had to end. The last thing Ignis wanted was an infatuated Gladio fawning all over him, or even pawing at him. Gods, as far as he’d been able to discern, the guy wasn’t interested in relationships or even plain old sex _at all_ , let alone with men. But then again, the thought of being sexually attracted to a man had never really crossed Gladio’s mind before a fortnight or so ago.

The school bell rang, and less than a minute later, the doors opened and a small flood of students began to pour out.

The girls, from aged twelve to seventeen or so, nearly all stared at him and giggled. Some of the bolder ones, those nearer his own age, waved, winked, or even called out at him, but as ever he let them wash off him like water off a sahagin’s back. He had many a fantasy, but school girls was not one.

As the familiar sight of a sleepy, pale-skinned, black haired boy caught his eye, Gladio grinned. Prompto was next to him, rabbiting on a mile a minute about something or other, and Noct was nodding dazedly, looking like he wanted nothing more to fall over on his feet.

 _Poor kid_ , Gladio thought. He knew that the combined actions of the crystal and the lingering effects of his childhood injury left Noctis drained, and with the weight of war and responsibility looming on his shoulders, it was no wonder he was perpetually exhausted. Prompto’s exuberance did bring a tired smile to his face though, which made Gladio more relaxed. Yes, a friendship with Prompto had been good for the prince, no doubt about it.

“Oi, Princess!” he called, raising his arm in greeting. A small gaggle of girls burst out into silly giggles and he flashed them a grin and a wink.

Noct’s white cheeks flushed deep scarlet and he looked like he was trying to shrink back into his blazer collar with mortification, but Prompto yipped a greeting and bounced on his toes, waving back. Gladio grinned at him. He knew the ‘embarrassing dad at the gates’ was a sure way to piss Noct off, but he couldn’t help it.

He’d been so focused on making the fifteen year old squirm that he didn’t notice the approaching figure from his right. As Prompto shoved his phone screen under Noct’s nose to show him some cool new trading card he’d earned in a game – they were close enough that Gladio could see the colours on the screen – the figure stepped far too close and Gladio reacted in a flash.

He swung round, his huge hands coming up to grab the figure by the throat and _slam_ him back into the body of the car behind him. It was only when he recognised the glasses and the ash-brown hair that fell over them slightly, and the startled wheeze left his chest as it was compressed into the bullet-proof glass of the Regalia, that he realised who it was.

“Gladio!” Noctis yelled, latching onto his enormous arm. “The hell is wrong with you?”

Gladio blinked and released his grp instantly. A huge red mark flared across Ignis’ delicate windpipe where his great big hand had nearly crushed it. “Fuck, Ignis,” he gasped, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”

Ignis coughed, still plastered to the side of the Regalia like a bug on a windshield, his hands hanging limp at his sides.

“Oh Gods,” Gladio hissed, stepping back, his own hands fluttering horribly at his sides. “Ig, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Not seriously,” Ignis managed to rasp, carefully pushing his frame away from the car door and coughing, one hand moving to nurse his throat. “At least…” he wheezed, “We know that… you take your job… seriously…”

“Fuck,” Gladio swore. “I didn’t mean… Ig…” Of all the people he could have hurt, of all the people he could have slammed against cold metal, of all the people’s throats he could have grabbed, it had to be _Ignis_? The _one_ person who hated being touched more than anything else? The _one_ person it had taken _years_ to become accepting of Gladio’s touch? Now, he was sure – sure as a lit match in a hay barn – that he’d just blown all his chances with Ignis, all his progress, sky high up in smoke.

“I’m quite alright. It’s my fault,” he said, his voice still strained. “I should have known better than to sneak up on you like that.” He rubbed one last time at his bruised larynx and added, “Really, don’t trouble yourself over it.”

“What are you doing here?” Gladio and Noctis asked at the same time.

Ignis’ face softened, though he was still pale and shaken. “My tutor had to cancel.”

“You could have taken the day off,” Noct pouted, glaring around him at the small crowd of people who had gathered after Gladio’s act of violence, now beginning to dissipate.

Prompto was staring at Gladio as if he’d only just realised quite how big and muscular he really was. He took half a step back, then one sideways towards Noctis.

Gladio’s heart cracked a little bit more at that.

He’d always been big and powerful, always found it so easy to hurt people without meaning to. And now he’d nearly broken Ignis’ neck. His father’s voice chastised him in his head: _Always mind your strength, Gladio. The Shields can never afford to lose control of themselves, not even for a moment. We are blessed with this strength, but we must always be in control._

He had lost control. He could have _killed_ Ignis. He didn’t realise he’d clenched his fists and was shaking until he felt a cold hand on his arm. “Gladio?” The voice was husky, but so unmistakably _his_ that he felt the urge to tear up and bit it back.

“I’m sorry, Ignis,” he whispered, feeling his eyebrows buckling upwards and his eyes going wide. He’d not been this ashamed of himself since he’d thrown a toy at Iris when he was eight and a plastic corner had cut her forehead. She’d needed three stitches and she wouldn’t speak to him for a week. He wanted the same punishment from Ignis, or worse, but instead all he got was a gods-damned _gentle_ touch on his arm.

 _Ignis_ was touching _him_.

“As I said, Gladio, you were only doing your job. I should have called out first so as not to surprise you. I wasn’t thinking.”

His face was so earnest that Gladio felt he iron muscles in his arms softening a little.

“Shall we get going?” Ignis smiled, looking from Gladio to the two boys who hovered nervously near the car. “How about the arcade?”

Prompto and Noctis exchanged a mirrored look and turned back to Ignis. Suddenly Noctis didn’t look half as sleepy. Then the prince looked to his shield. “You ok with that?”

“Whatever you want, Princess,” he managed to smile. As the boys climbed into the back, Gladio cleared his throat. “You wanna drive, Ig?”

Ignis shook his head. “No. It’s all set up for you, unless you _want_ me to drive.”

“No, that’s ok,” he said, and Ignis moved gracefully around to the passenger door.

Before he opened it, he put one hand on the frame and looked up, catching Gladio watching. “Really, Gladio,” he said, eyes flashing a hard meaning, “It’s alright. I’m alright.”

Gladio nodded. He knew a request to leave something alone when he saw it.

As Noct raised the laser gun at the robot on the screen, and Prompto screeched something about his aim being terrible, Gladio risked another glance at Ignis. The advisor was standing, ramrod straight as usual, with his arms crossed over his chest. His body gave nothing away, except for the slow tapping of one finger on his left bicep.

His mind was racing then, chewing away at something

Gladio took a step closer, raising his hand before he realised what he was doing.

Ignis turned his head slowly and watched as Gladio retracted the gesture with the speed of a striking hundlegs, and blushed an awkward grimace at him.

Ignis’ own face melted into a warm, affectionate smile. “Gladiolus,” he said sternly. “Nothing’s changed…”

For someone who couldn’t read people very well, Ignis Scientia was doing a damned fine job of splitting Gladio’s chest open and reading every word writ plain on the outside of his heart. Each beat seemed to murmur his name: _Ig-nis. Ig-nis. Ig-nis._

When Gladio didn’t move, Ignis sighed and stepped close. Too close. In the shadows of the arcade, in their relatively private corner, he slid his body close to Gladio’s. So close his torso touched Gladio’s body all the way along its lean, warm length, and he briefly rested his head against Gladio’s shoulder, chuckling.

“Ignis?” Gladio whispered, hardly daring to breathe, let alone move.

Again, that earthy chuckle rumbled in Ignis’ throat and Gladio never wanted to hear another sound but that one ever again. The ruckus of the arcade; the glaring lights; the shrill of the machines: it all faded into static as Ignis kept his head on Gladio’s huge shoulder, laughing softly to himself like he’d heard a dirty joke in a king’s council meeting and was fighting to keep it to himself.

Tentatively, so frightened he might shatter this blown-glass bubble of thrilling happiness, Gladio reached around Ignis and drew him against his body completely. His left hand was on the hard curve of Ignis’ left shoulder, with Ignis’ right tucked underneath his own. Ignis’ laugh slowly faded, and he nuzzled his cheek into the fabric of Gladio’s shirt just once before stepping back and looking up at him.

His eyes were dark green with emotion, deep and entrancing as raw emeralds. His lips moved, but Gladio took a while to hear the words. Gradually they filtered down through the layers of astonishment and relief in his brain.

And when he’d finally worked out what Ignis had said, the man was walking away towards where Noctis and Prompto had drifted off in search of another machine.

Gladio stood there, dumfounded and motionless as the stone statues of the kings of Lucis dotted around the city.

_“I will never be afraid of you, nor will I ever reject your touch, Gladio.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this update. Come find me on Tumblr (@expectogladiolus or @raufnirsramblings (for original fiction and metalwork etc)) if you want to nerd out about FFXV or whatever. Thanks for stopping by to read this latest update!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Gladio got his scar...   
> The pose at the end is based off this GORGEOUS artwork by Hanatsuki89 on Tumblr: http://hanatsuki89.tumblr.com/post/167920452853/i-love-the-they-put-you-to-sleep-in-order-to Go check out her stuff, she's incredible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience with this story! I love you very much.

“Wait, Iggy,” he grunted, jogging to close the gap between them before he disappeared entirely among the arcade machines.

Ignis turned, one eyebrow just raised a little, and nodded. “Yes?”

“You… You can’t just say something like that and then walk off… You mean it?”

“Do you have any reason to suspect duplicity on my part?”

“Fuck, no, of course not, but…” _What did you mean by it?_ was what he really wanted to ask.

Ignis, astute as always, quirked another smile, and inhaled deeply. Gladio watched the way his chest rose and fell smoothly, his eyes remaining steady and calm, and felt his own heartbeat spike. “I meant what I said, Gladio. I will never shy away from your touch.”

“Yeah, but… Iggy…”

“Not here,” Ignis said. “I’d rather not have this discussion right here, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Fine, get a drink with me later?”

He nodded, just as Noctis yelled Ignis’ name. It was not a jubilant victory shout after winning a game. It was a cry of absolute terror. And the prince was nowhere to be seen.

Ignis and Gladio reacted as one, adrenaline coursing through their veins as they cast about desperately for the prince and his best friend.

“Where did he go?” Ignis gasped, “Where _is_ he?”

Another high-pitched yell rose above the blip and blare of the arcade machines, and Gladio took off running, fists balled. After a frantic couple of minutes that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, a flash of movement out beyond a fire exit caught his eye, and he tanked for it like a barrelling kujata. “Iggy!” he bellowed to alert his friend without breaking stride.

A man had Noctis by the back of his blazer, one hand over his mouth, and the Crown Prince of Lucis dangled, useless as a netted rabbit, stunned and frightened. Gladio slammed into the man, but in a heartbeat, he had drawn a blade, seemingly from nowhere. Noctis was out of his grasp, but the fight was just beginning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ignis skidding into the doorway behind him, dual daggers drawn, and heard him ask Noctis where Prompto was. Gladio left the prince in Ignis capable hands, and turned his full attention on the fucker who’d laid hands on his prince.

“Who are you?” he demanded, but the man was in no mood to talk.

Gladio took up a sparring stance, light on his feet despite his bulk, and let the adrenaline fill his mind and muscles. The man, ugly as the back end of a dualhorn, leered at him. “You think you look tough, pretty boy,” he snarled, “But you ain’t never fought a real fight a day in your life.”

“Let’s dance, sweetheart,” Gladio growled, “And then you can tell me who the fuck you are, and why the hell you think it’s ok to go grabbing young boys in arcades.”

That seemed to bait him, and the man lunged at him. He was quicker and more agile than he looked, but Gladio blocked most of the punches that the man threw at him with his left hand, while keeping an eye on the blade.

Suddenly, behind him, he heard Ignis yell Prompto’s name, a gritty kind of fear in his voice that made Gladio’s heart cold for a moment. It was all the distraction the man needed to bring the knife arcing through the air and slice down Gladio’s cheek.

A hot line of fire burst down his face and he clamped a hand to his left cheek, reeling backwards as bright blood spurted between his fingers, filling his vision, blinding him. Rage boiled behind the pain, and he rammed the man with his shoulder, just as he heard Ignis call out to him. The man went down, smacking his head on the pavement behind him and going still.

And then Ignis was there. “Oh Astrals, Gladio,” he gasped. “Hold on.”

Gladio rolled over but stayed sitting down, adrenaline fading, dissolving in his blood stream, and realised he was shaking all over while Ignis barked orders over his phone.

When he was done, soft, gentle hands were on his shoulders.

“Noct?” Gladio rasped. “Where is he? Is he ok?”

“He’s fine, and Prompto too, though the latter was knocked unconscious,” Ignis reassured him. “Gods, I wish I had a potion with me. It’s going to scar. I think – let me see – yes, I think he missed your eye, thank the Light.”

“Ig,” he gasped, pressing his hand back over his eye. “Fuck…”

“Yes, quite,” Ignis sighed. “It’s alright. The marshal is on his way.”

“Oh Gods, I should have been with him, Iggy. I failed. I…”

“Shh,” Ignis said, his hand squeezing Gladio’s massive shoulder. “It’s alright. He wandered off. He’s more than learned his lesson, I’d say. I’m just sorry you had to pay the price.”

It took only another ten minutes, plus the use of a clean cloth from one of the arcade staff to attempt to stem the bleeding, for Cor to arrive and remove the prince and Prompto to safety.

Clarus arrived separately in his own car mere seconds after Cor did, and the moment he clapped eyes on his son, his shoulders slumped in relief and he rushed towards him. “Gladiolus,” he breathed, “Oh Gods, Gladiolus, you’re going to be alright. Well done. It’s alright. Come on, let’s get you to the med bay.”

Ignis stayed by his side as Clarus led his still-bleeding son from the arcade towards the car out the front. He was a quiet, steadying presence in the car as Gladio tried to hold it together. A couple of Crownsguards stood on the street outside, keeping a barrier between the prince and the people who had gathered to gawk at the spectacle, but Gladio could barely see where he was going behind the blood-soaked towel and the shaking in his muscles.

With Clarus on one side and Ignis on the other, he was shepherded into the car, and sat there while the drove through the city, sirens blazing.

The next hour was a blur. He received medical attention in the hospital wing of the palace, but while the potion stopped the bleeding, it didn’t heal the cut immediately. They bandaged him and kept him in overnight for observation.

Exhausted, and more than slightly woozy from all the potions and medication, Gladio slumped back into the pillows behind him. He hadn’t even noticed he was still wearing his bloodstained hoodie, and he couldn’t find it within himself to try and change. The dark fabric was smeared with blood from the cut and the fight, but he couldn’t really take it off now anyway without dislodging the bandages that they’d put over his eye to promote healing and prevent infection.

Just as he lingered a moment longer on the edge of sleep, he felt a presence beside him. Long years of training jolted him back to the moment, but as he saw the figure sinking down into a chair beside his bed he softened and relaxed.

“It’s just me, Gladio,” Ignis said in his soft baritone. “They finally let me in to see you.”

“You don’t have to stay, Iggy,” he said, his lips feeling thick and puffy, his voice even deeper and gruffer than usual.

Ignis surprised him yet again by taking his hand in his and smiling. “I want to stay, Gladio. You were incredible today.”

Gladio’s lips twitched a bit at that, but he couldn’t smile properly because the cut throbbed too much. “I never got to take you for that drink…”

“We can reschedule.” Ignis yawned and leaned forwards on the bed, resting his chin in his hands. “Monica found out who the man was, and what he wanted…”

“Oh?” Gladio managed to ask, his brain getting fuzzier and fuzzier at the edges.

“Indeed. She said the man was part of a small crew who had been plotting to kidnap the prince and hold him to ransom. By stopping him, you foiled all their plans.”

“M’glad he’s safe,” he mumbled, unable to stop himself sliding down into unconsciousness. Ignis’ voice had begun to fade in and out like a badly-tuned radio. “M’glad you’re safe too,” he slurred. The potions he’d been given caught up with him and his brain went blank. “Love you Iggy.”

And he slipped into a sleep of the dead.

An unknown number of hours slid past until he stirred again.

He was still sitting upright against the pillows, and he felt a little clearer in the head, but there was a warm weight on his right thigh. Blinking in the half-light of the hospital ward, he gazed down and saw that Ignis had settled down, leaning his head on his forearm, his glasses still on, if a little wonky, resting all his weight on Gladio’s leg.

His heart leapt at the sight of him. Never before had he seen Ignis so relaxed, so quiet, so _still_. He barely dared breathe in case he disturbed him. And then he noticed something else.

Ignis was still holding Gladio’s hand.

“Thank you for staying,” Gladio murmured, reaching his left hand up to remove Ignis’ glasses before they pressed into his nose and hurt him.

Ignis didn’t stir as Gladio took his specs off and folded them, one-handed because Ignis’ fingers were still interlocked with his own, nor did he wake when Gladio let out a soft grunt of pain, raising explorative fingers to the bandages on his face. It hurt less now, his cheek feeling a little less puffy, but he was still so tired and more than a might woozy, so he laid his head back, left hand returning to grip the sheets idly as he eased himself into a more comfortable position.

Ignis shuffled slightly, soundlessly mouthing indistinct words, and Gladio let his eyes rove over the softer planes of his face in sleep. He really was beautiful. Too bad Gladio had no idea what his preferences.

As Gladio began to dip below the edge of sleep again a thought – a tiny needle of memory – struck him like a blow from a greatsword to the stomach.

He’d said it. He’d said it out loud. He’d said _it_ out loud.

“Well. Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of those two falling in love gradually over time, slowly getting to know each other, getting comfortable with each other's presence and quirks. This isn't necessarily related to any other Gladnis stuff I've written, but I'd like to write more about these two getting closer and eventually falling in love. Because I love fluff. And Gladnis.


End file.
